Matt Berninger, longtime frontman of The National, returns with his second solo album Get Sunk—a lush, loose, and emotionally charged record that feels like a jolt of life. It’s a shift from the hushed melancholy of his 2020 debut Serpentine Prison, which leaned into stripped-down ballads. This time around, the sound is bigger and brighter, even when the subject matter gets heavy. Written after a move from Los Angeles to Connecticut and a long stretch of creative burnout, Get Sunk finds Berninger reconnecting with why he makes music in the first place.
“With The National I created a character, inadvertently but also by design,” Berninger told The Times. “And with this record I am trying to rewrite that character.” You can hear that intention across Get Sunk—he’s still the same narrator of fear, anxiety, and longing, but the edges have changed. There’s more humor, more color, and a sense that he’s not afraid to shift the perspective.
In that same interview, Berninger added, “I’ve always been writing about the same things—fear, anxiety, love—but this time I wanted to strip it down even more.” That emotional rawness is front and center, but the album is anything but sparse. It blends folk-rock and orchestral flourishes with synths, group vocals, and the occasional horn section. It’s dense in a way that feels organic, not overworked—like a foggy memory that starts coming into focus.
From the start, the album feels more energized. “Inland Ocean” opens with steady keys and layered harmonies before diving into a rhythmic, almost hypnotic chorus: “God loves the inland ocean / Lost cause, I have no emotion.” Berninger sounds both weary and wide awake. “Let me stay here, let me please / Wrap me up in your summer sheets,” he pleads—classic Berninger, but with a lift.
“No Love” brings familiar territory: minor-key piano, ghostly female backing vocals, and a quiet ache. “Everything we ever wanted, but no love,” he sings, circling around emptiness with a shrug. It’s sad, but not in a showy way—just a statement of fact.
“Bonnet of Pins” is one of the album’s most vivid scenes. It plays like a short story set to music: “She sidewinders through the room to me / With a real cigarette and a Styrofoam coffee.” The arrangement shifts from orchestral swells to electric guitar and drums, giving the song both weight and momentum. “I thought I’d find you much quicker than this / You must’ve thought I didn’t exist,” the woman tells him, casually devastating.
“Frozen Oranges” dips into dreamier, surreal territory. “There’s frozen oranges in the trees in Indiana / And crystal apples in the creeks,” he sings, mixing memory and myth. It’s rooted in the landscapes of his childhood, but the lyrics have a floating, untethered quality. There’s drama in the piano and drums, but it never overpowers the weird beauty of the scene.
One of the standout moments on Get Sunk is “Breaking Into Acting,” a duet with Meg Duffy, who records under the name Hand Habits. Over soft piano and acoustic guitar, they trade verses about performance and pretense. “Your mouth is always full of blood packets / You’re breaking into acting / I completely understand,” they sing, like two people trying to convince each other they’re okay. Duffy’s presence adds warmth and empathy, elevating the emotional punch without overshadowing Berninger’s delivery.
“Nowhere Special” speeds things up and spirals out. Berninger jumps from line to line in a rush: “I’ll slur my city words into the mind grinder microphone / My skull isn’t soft anymore, it has cracks in it like a floor.” The song moves fast, full of noise and nervous energy, like a brain that just won’t shut off. “I’ve got nowhere to be, nowhere, nowhere special,” he repeats—maybe a little relieved about it.
“Little by Little” is more grounded, with a slow build and a strong chorus. “Little by little you don’t come around / Little by little you go underground,” he sings. The lyrics are simple and direct, but the arrangement—complete with organ from Booker T. Jones—makes it feel warm and full.
“Junk” is stripped back again. “Take me all apart, I’m only junk / Do what you need to baby, I’m giving up,” he sings, offering himself up in the most resigned way possible. It’s not self-pity—it just sounds like someone being honest about where they’re at.
On “Silver Jeep,” Berninger is joined by Julia Laws, who records as Ronboy. The track opens with a warm horn section that immediately sets it apart, adding brightness to an otherwise melancholy scene. Her harmonies drift in and out like a memory. “I didn’t want you to think I knew anything at all / About the rumor somebody saw you / Somewhere in the middle of nowhere in a silver Jeep,” he sings, circling a breakup through vague updates and wishful thinking. Ronboy’s vocals add a ghostly layer that makes the track feel both intimate and distant.
The album ends with “Times of Difficulty,” a soft, steady closer that acts almost like a mantra. “I’ll think of you if you think of me / In times of difficulty,” he sings, over layered group vocals and gentle instrumentation. “In times of heartache get drunk / In times of tears get sunk.” There’s no big crescendo, no final twist—just the sense of someone finding a bit of peace in the middle of the chaos.
What makes Get Sunk feel so powerful is how casually it carries its weight. The lyrics don’t overexplain; the songs don’t overstay. There’s sadness here, but also warmth, humor, weirdness, and moments of beauty that sneak up on you. It feels like a record made by someone who stopped trying to prove anything and just focused on feeling something—whatever shape that takes.
As someone who doesn’t often gravitate toward melancholy music, I found myself pulled in by how rich Get Sunk is—both in its production and its lyricism. There’s so much to digest in these songs, and I’m grateful I had the chance to sit with them over multiple listens before the album’s release. It made me appreciate not just the emotional depth, but also the care and craft behind every track.
Honestly, Berninger should score a film next. His writing is so vivid, I can see the scenes in my mind as I listen. Get Sunk plays like a movie already—one that’s strange, emotional, and quietly beautiful.
Get Sunk is out now.
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